


Galaxy

by meridianpony



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Adventure, Finding Family, Fluff, Gen, Heist, Kidnapping, On the Run, Pilot!Michael, Smuggling, Star Wars AU, Torture, mechanic!gavin, others to be revealed later - Freeform, space
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 22:29:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15917559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meridianpony/pseuds/meridianpony
Summary: Michael meets Gavin in a dark bar somewhere on level 3047 on Coruscant, far enough down that natural light is practically nonexistent and the smog hangs thick and heavy in the air.Snippets of an Achievement Hunter Star Wars AU





	1. Come Sail Away

**Author's Note:**

> I shouldn't be writing this I shouldn't be writing this ahhhh I have much bigger things to work on and this is my first time writing for this fandom but it's here and it happened so I'm posting it anyway and crying a little as I do

He meets Gavin in a dark bar somewhere on level 3047 on Coruscant, far enough down that natural light is practically nonexistent and smog hangs thick and heavy in the air. He’s two pints into a bottle of flameout and entertaining the idea of buying two more when someone slides into the seat next to him . Michael’s first instinct is to roll his eyes and turn away, because there are plenty of empty seats around the other side of the bar, but this idiot had to go and pick the one right next to him. 

“Another pint of that, for my friend here, and one for me as well,” the guy says in a posh Coruscant accent, and Michael raises an eyebrow, glancing back at the newcomer in new light. 

Michael’s just drunk enough that he’s appreciative of the gesture, and kriff, if the guy’s got money Michael isn’t complaining. 

“Thanks,” he grunts. “Do I know you?”

“Don’t think so,” the posh guy says, far too cheerily for Michael’s liking. “But I know you, I think.”

Michael’s hackles raise just a little, and he sets down his cup warily. 

“Oh?” he says, one hand inching down towards the blaster at his hip. The other man doesn’t seem alarmed by the motion. He leans back in his seat a tad and accepts the glasses the bartender hands him, offering one to Michael. 

“Flew me to level five thousand and fifteen a few days ago, didn’t you?” he says. “The name’s Gavin.”

Michael relaxes a little. He flies a lot of people—Michael works for a taxi company, driving a beaten old speeder up and down Coruscant’s levels. It pays decent—not enough to get Michael anywhere, but also just enough so he doesn’t get booted out of his apartment.

“Five thousand, huh?” he repeats slowly as he takes his drink from Gavin. “Should have stayed there. Don’t know why you’d come back down here.” The guy looks like he belongs on level five thousand. He’s too put together, too relaxed for level three-thousand and whatever it is they’re on right now. The accent alone is enough to get him mugged here.  

Gavin shrugs, takes a swig of flameout and immediately coughs at the heat as the alcohol trickles down his throat. Michael laughs and takes a long drink of his own, mostly just to show him how it’s done. When his cup is drained he slams it down onto the counter and glares at Gavin. 

“So, what do you want? I’m not working right now, if you couldn’t kriffin’ tell.”

“What, I can’t buy a drink for a stranger?”

Michael snorts. “Not on this level, you can’t.”

There’s a gaggle of Rodians at a table in the corner. Gavin’s eyes stray to them curiously as they play a fast-paced round of sabacc. 

“Maybe I wanted to, Michael,” he answers distractedly. Michael grits his teeth. 

“Alright, you’re creepy. You remembered your driver’s name? That’s a little weird, dude.” If he were any less drunk he’d definitely be hostile by now, but Michael’s  _ tired.  _ Tired and bored and not really feeling like caring. 

Coruscant is sucking the life out of him, slowly but surely, like a giant parasite. Michael knows it, can feel it in his bones, but he can’t do anything to change it. His paycheck isn’t big enough for that.  

“Why are you here?” Michael asks again, because Gavin hasn’t answered him yet. “Why’re you talking to me?”

Gavin grins at him.

“Would you believe me if I told you it was coincidence that I met you here, Michael?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Gavin’s grin widens. 

“You’re a pilot,” he says. Michael snorts. 

“If you needed a pilot, you’d be better off getting one at five zero fifteen.”

“You’re a pilot who can push a junk pile of a speeder forty over the speed limit and weave around traffic like it’s not even there,” Gavin presses.

Michael sighs. He remembers Gavin much more clearly now—slightly frantic as he’d gotten into the speeder, asking Michael nervously if they could be at 5015 in ten minutes and claiming that he would tip well if Michael could make it happen.

It technically hadn’t been possible, but Michael had looked at the speed limit, rolled his eyes, and floored it. He’d wanted the money.

Michael knows the flow of lower-Coruscant traffic better than most. He’d grown up here, and weaving through the larger ships had been easy. Avoiding the Imperial police bots had been even easier. 

“There are plenty of skilled pilots on this planet,” he says, reaching for the flameout again. Gavin frowns now, reaching out to hold the glass bottle just out of Michael’s reach. 

“You aren’t wrong. But I want  _ you,  _ Michael.”

“Why the kriff?” Michael mutters. “I don’t even have a ship. Leave me the kriff alone.”

“You talked as you drove, about stars and galaxies and space. We’re the same, you know.”

Michael always talks while he drives, because it’s nice to rant to people you’ll never see again. He doesn’t remember what he’d said to Gavin, exactly, but he rants about wanting to go to space often enough that he isn’t surprised. 

“The same,” Michael repeats, deadpan. “The same, how exactly?” He takes in the other man, in soft clothing with an upper level accent. Compares it to himself, in a worn leather jacket with an impressive shiner on his cheek.

“The same, in that we want to get off of this planet and never come back.”

Michael blinks again. Gavin’s tone had gone grim so suddenly that Michael practically gets whiplash from the sudden change.

“What are you talking about?”

“I know you want to get out of here,” Gavin tells him seriously. “I can tell. I’m the same.”

Michael scoffs, looks the man up and down. “Looks like you’ve got it pretty well for yourself,” he comments wryly. Gavin grins again, but it doesn’t reach his eyes this time. 

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you,” he answers in a false-cheery voice that Michael automatically hates. 

“Whoop-de-kriffin’-doo,” he replies in an attempt to remain aloof, but it’s too late—Michael’s a bit intrigued. “I ask again—there’s hundreds of other pilots who’re in the same situation I’m in. Why not go to them?”

“Well, I didn’t, did I? I came to you.”

Michael stares him down for a long moment. There’s something in Gavin’s eyes that Michael can relate to—a hint of desperation, a desire for freedom. Underneath it all is unwavering determination, and Michael knows in that instant that if he denies Gavin now the other man will just find a different way to get out of here, and…

Michael  _ does  _ want to leave. More than anything. He wants to see the galaxy. He wants to go somewhere new. 

He doesn’t know Gavin at all, has no reason to trust him, but Michael looks at Gavin and thinks,  _ what do I have to lose? _

The answer is nothing, so he sighs and puts his cup down for good.

“Alright, fine,” he grunts. Gavin lets out a pleased sound.

“This is going to be absolutely  _ top,  _ Michael. Come with me, yeah?” Gavin says brightly. He tosses a handful of credits haphazardly onto the counter. They clink loudly on the durasteel bar. Michael winces as every head turns at the sound, like bloodhounds catching a scent. The Rodians in the corner pause their game, and a Trandoshan at a nearby table bares its teeth in a savage smile.

“Force, you’re an idiot,” he hisses, and grabs onto Gavin’s shoulder to steer him out of there ASAP. Gavin whines the whole way out, to which Michael only responds by flicking his ear and inciting a sound that’s more of a squeak than any other noise a normal human would make. Michael reassess him for a moment, wondering vaguely if he’s fully human or not. In this galaxy it’s sometimes hard to tell. 

Once they’re outside Michael lets go, and Gavin starts moving immediately, towards a housing district down the road. Michael frowns. 

For some reason, he trusts Gavin enough to follow him. He’d sounded genuine when he talked about leaving, and Michael isn’t going to let an opportunity like that slip through his fingers, especially if Gavin is telling the truth about his ship.  

He sets his jaw, hopes fervently that Gavin isn’t a serial killer, and follows him down the road. 


	2. Down the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin does actually have a ship, he hadn't been lying about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this mad fast. Hopefully it's alright.

Gavin does have a ship—he hadn’t been lying about that. 

Said ship barely look functional, however, and Michael tells Gavin as much, ignoring the offended squawk Gavin lets out as he makes his way through the crowded garage towards the ship’s open ramp. 

“ _ Mi _ chael, don’t be rude!” he says. “I built this thing myself, you know!”

Michael raises a doubtful eyebrow, but he does turn and scrutinize Gavin carefully as the other man runs his hand over the ship’s hull fondly. When Michael squints he notices that Gavin’s fingertips are stained slightly darker than the rest of his skin. Grease stains, perhaps?

The ship itself is small—a little shuttle that’s probably just barely big enough to include a hyperdrive. Michael can see evidence of personal crafting all over it. It definitely isn’t something that was made in a factory. The welding lines are far too dark, imperfect, and Michael squints at them suspiciously. 

So maybe Gavin really did build it. That makes Michael a little nervous, though. He can’t be sure of the quality.

“She’s called  _ Phantom,”  _ Gavin announces proudly. “I’ve been working on her for almost a year, now. Only one thing left to do, and then she’s ready for flight.”

“You certain it’ll get off the ground?” Michael mutters, stepping closer and glancing at an odd dent near the cockpit. “I don’t wanna kriffing die the second we get into the air.”

“Of course it will!” Gavin says, and bounds up the ramp. Michael sighs, clenches both fists slowly, and reminds himself that he really doesn’t have anything to lose before following. 

The inside of the ship, surprisingly, looks much better than the outside. There’s not a lot of space inside. The cockpit has room for three, and there’s a small living space behind that wouldn’t exist in normal shuttles—that area would typically be for for long-range communication equipment. Gavin’s converted that space into a quaint little room with a couch and a holoprojector on two of the walls. There’s storage space below them, and off to the side Michael sees a door headed to the tiniest sleeping quarters and one refresher. 

It’s… not that bad, actually. 

“Force,” Michael mutters, impressed. “Looks like less of a trash heap from here.”

Gavin shifts next to him, something annoyed in the motion. “It had better. I worked on the sodding hull first, when I hardly knew what I was doing. I got better the further I got. I can fix the hull eventually, too, just… not now.”

“Okaaaay,” Michael drawls, and does a little spin, looking over every inch of the ship that he can see. “So what are you still trying to finish?”

Gavin’s eyes light up, and he shoves Michael to the back of the ship, babbling as he does— “Just the hyperdrive, Michael, that’s the last thing, and it’s been a right pain to finish but I’ve nearly got it, see?” He hooks one hand under a large panel at the floor and lifts, exposing a maze of inner workings that Michael can’t really make heads or tails of. He knows where the hyperdrive is, but that’s about it. Gavin’s still talking away, something about ionization channels and hyperdrive motivators, and—

He just seems so… genuinely excited, to talk about the karking hyperdrive, of all things. Michael blinks at him in confusion, and Gavin trails off as he notices Michael’s blank expression. 

“Ah… right. Sorry,” he mumbles. His shoulders slump just a little. “Nevermind, then—”

There’s just something so absolutely crushed in his expression, in the way he tries to school his expression back to neutral instead of disappointed. Michael doesn’t like it at all. 

“Go on, then,” he grunts, and Gavin jerks, surprise flashing over his face. For a moment he stares at Michael in confusion. When Michael gestures impatiently Gavin flushes and continues, and just like that his energy is back.

There’s something… slightly off about that whole interaction that makes Michael frown. In fact, there’s something off about this entire situation that makes Michael a little uncomfortable, but not in the way he’d expected it to. Gavin doesn’t seem poor, by any means—on the contrary, he obviously has some amount of money, and if Michael was a different person he’d maybe consider trying to use that to his advantage. Parts to build a fully-functioning starship from scratch aren’t exactly cheap.

If Gavin has it so well off, why does he want to leave? That’s what Michael can’t quite figure out—and that’s why he hasn’t dismissed the other man yet, because he’s still curious, and still hopeful that this will work out for him somehow. Gavin has business opportunities around level five thousand, and Michael really wants to know why he’d give that up. Why had he built his ship here, in the dark and grime and crime, instead of closer to the light and in much more accomodating facilities? 

Gavin is an enigma already, and Michael’s barely known him for an hour. 

“...so, yeah, that’s the only thing I have left,” Gavin says, voice getting softer as he finishes. “I don’t… I mean, sorry, you probably didn’t understand much of—or did you? You’re a pilot, yeah?”

“Bits and pieces of it, maybe,” Michael says, which likely would have been true had he been legitimately listening. “So, uh, how long is that gonna take? Are we gonna make this actually happen or what?”

Gavin grins at him. “I can have it done by tomorrow, if I work hard enough. Can you actually fly it if I finish it?”

Michael looks it over once more and steps towards the cockpit without waiting for permission. The electric boards are well-maintained, and the pilot’s seat is a nice material, not to soft, not too hard. The controls are vaguely familiar. Michael’s flown more than just speeders in his life, and he’s confident he can fly this, too.

“Yeah,” he says. “You got a way to get past the Imperial blockade, or are we gonna hightail it and see how far we get?” Michael’s never really cared for the Imperials. They don’t make their way to the lower levels too often, and when they do, it’s with columns of armed stormtroopers marching through the dark streets, heads on a swivel for anyone even slightly suspicious-looking. Michael just avoids those. The blockade regulating the comings and goings from Coruscant isn’t nearly as easy to get around.

“You let me worry about that,” Gavin says fiercely, and waves Michael out of the cockpit just as Michael’s reaching to fiddle with the joysticks. Michael tries to ignore the way his heart wrenches as he’s separated from the first spacefaring ship he’s been inside in nine years, when he’d first learned to fly. It had been just speeders after that, and Coruscant had trapped him. “You, go home and get whatever gubbins you want to bring, alright? We could leave tomorrow, if we really wanted to.”

Michael takes a breath. 

Gavin seems serious. Workmanship of the ship aside… this doesn’t seem like a hoax. Michael can hardly believe his luck. 

He has a chance to leave Coruscant. To get out of his tiny, too-expensive apartment, to ditch his underpaying job, and see the rest of the galaxy. Of kriffing  _ course  _ he’s going to do it.

He doubts he’s gonna get another opportunity like this. He doesn’t like how much blind trust he’s putting in Gavin, but once more—it’s not like Michael has anything to lose. 

He laughs in lingering disbelief and takes a deep breath. 

“Alright, fine. I’ll get my… gubbins. When do you want me back tomorrow?”

“Mid-afternoon should be fine, I suppose,” Gavin says, sounding distracted already. When Michael glances back at him, the other man has is rolling up his sleeves, staring at a pile of machinery on the floor like it’s personally offended him. Michael frowns in confusion and takes a few steps towards the door.

“Look…” he says when he gets to the doorway. “I won’t be happy if this is some sort of setup, okay? I’ll be kriffing pissed. Understand?”

“Why on earth would I set you up?” Gavin replies, head snapping back towards Michael in surprise. Michael rolls his eyes. 

“Sithspit, I don’t know. Nevermind, you kriffing idiot, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

He leaves Gavin to his sketchy tinkering and starts the walk back to his apartment, hurrying along much faster than he would have ordinarily. He jostles past a pair of Weequays who growl threateningly and cuss him out as he speeds past, but other than that, there’s no incident as he makes his way to his building in record time. 

He has a lot to do, if they’re really going to do this. If it’s even real at all. He’ll need to pull credits out of his bank, and cancel the rent of his apartment. He won’t bother calling into work. They’ll just assume he’d been stabbed in some back alley behind a bar, and honestly Michael couldn’t care less about that. He needs to get food, because who knows what Gavin will get and who even knows where they’ll go?

(Once again, assuming this is a real, legitimate thing, and the ship doesn’t explode once it hits the atmosphere or get shot out of the sky by the Imperials.)

Michael dares to hope. He’s gone for so long without it, after all, and he desperately wants this to go through. 

He hunkers down and gets to work. There’s a lot he needs to finish up if he’s really going to get off of the planet tomorrow. 


End file.
